A POETRY BOOK
INNERCITY BLUES
People
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered
Hauling the luggage of
Dreams, lost, stolen and deferred,
Traveling the road
of
Promises denied
And Freedman’s Bureau’s Exodus lies
Coupled with the Syndrome they did not identify
until Stockholm crystallized
in an epiphany of
Volcanic recognition
Summertime simmering
Perplex percolations
And complex permutations
Synthesized into
The simplicity of the
Kill whitey
Burn baby, burn
Inner city Blues
And in a few years
Some of these
Same people
Would put their foot on the rock
And pat that foot non-stop
Stand in a crowd
And
Shout out loud -
I’m Black
And
I’m proud
With a
Do You Hear Me?
Back beat.
The synchronicity of
Inner-city blues
Gave the ghettoes
A new attitude
THE SANDS OF ZANZIBAR
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